


Golden Cut

by hellhoundsprey



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Ass to Mouth, BDSM, Blindfolds, Bondage, Bottom Jared Padalecki, Caning, Dom Jeffrey Dean Morgan, Flogging, Foot Fetish, Kink Negotiation, Married Couple, Masks, Model Jared Padalecki, Modeling, Multi, Open Marriage, Orgasm Control, Photographer Jensen Ackles, Photography, Safe Sane and Consensual, Safer Sex, Spreader Bars, Sub Jared Padalecki, Switch Jensen Ackles, Threesome - M/M/M, porn star jeffrey dean morgan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-13 12:09:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28653288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellhoundsprey/pseuds/hellhoundsprey
Summary: Jeffrey and Jensen book a model for a fetish shoot. As always, they handle things very professionally.
Relationships: Jensen Ackles/Jeffrey Dean Morgan, Jensen Ackles/Jeffrey Dean Morgan/Jared Padalecki
Comments: 7
Kudos: 58





	Golden Cut

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ClaraxBarton](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClaraxBarton/gifts).



> Inspired by [this photo](https://hellhoundsprey.tumblr.com/post/190849044667/its-funny-we-run-from-those-who-chase-us-and). 
> 
> “Switch Jensen Ackles” = Jensen doesn’t actively bottom/sub but there are hints that he has done it before and that it is the norm between Jeff and him. Jensen is fully toppy/dom around Jared, though.
> 
> Big thank you to my amazing editor silver9mm for her awesome work. You enrich every single story, babe. I'm so lucky to have you ❤.

Kid’s tall. Skinny face, skinny hands. “Hey,” he says, and Jensen shakes his hand. Lets him in. It’s been pouring all day, all evening.

“Put your shit here.” Jensen gestures to the hangers, the already-there heaps of shoes and boots. “You hungry?”

Default, “No,” and Jensen half-watches how the guy peels himself out of his coat—oversized despite his height, and, well, his portfolio didn’t lie, did it. Jared toes off his sneakers, wipes his hands over his jeans after dropping his backpack. He gives Jensen a hopeful smile. “Drinks?”

Jensen snaps his finger and motions for Jared to follow him.

“Hey, hi.” Jeff gets up to turn a firm handshake into half a hug. Jensen grabs three glasses and fills them. “Glad you made it.”

“Oh. Oh, thanks.” Jared accepts his drink and the three of them raise their glasses in union. Jared doesn’t go beyond a polite sip. Jensen takes pleased notice. “So, uh—here, or?”

Jeff helps, “Basement,” and Jared’s face doesn’t distort much, not at all, and Jensen scoffs for that. Good.

Jensen offers, “You can take that with you if you want,” and Jared has another sip, and he smiles, just a little.

Jensen has sunk down on the coffee table next to the tech Jeff’s been tinkering with to pass the waiting time, and he watches. Jeff—moving, watching. The kid—settling in, finding his footing.

“So, uh.” Kid licks his lip, looks between the two of them. “Which one of you is Jeff, then?”

Jeff raises his hand and one corner of his mouth. “The one and only.”

Jared, twenty-four, says, “Oh,” unguarded, and he adds: “I thought—because you were handling the cam just now…”

“We can switch, later. I don’t think Mr. Ackles minds,” and Jensen receives Jeff’s eyes for that one, and he sucks his tooth in retaliation. “I’m more—videographic than photos, though, so: he’s calling the shots. Big boss.”

“Asshole.”

Jeff’s grunting laugh leaves Jared more relaxed. He sinks back against a sideboard before he realizes he’s doing it; lifts back up, holds his elbow, looks around. Superficial, practiced smile. “Nice place.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re from uptown?”

“Right,” says Jared, and when he moves, it’s—effortless. His hair swoops into his face as he nods. He rakes it back.

“What’s that like?”

“Oh, loud. And small, but—what can you do, you know?”

“Right,” says Jensen, and Jeff gives him a glance, and Jensen’s eyes droop down into his glass. “So, uh—your agent said you’ve done this before? Couple of times?” Jared nods, easy. “Why, you like it? Or because of the pay?”

“Uhm—I mean, both?” Jared’s laugh is airy, hesitant. “I’m, uh—I didn’t mean to build that kind of reputation, but here I am, I guess.” Jensen and Jeff watch him shrug in his well-fitted longsleeve, black. How he cradles the crystal tumbler Jensen’s entrusted him with in both of his huge, wiry hands. “I do fashion as well, but. Pay’s good.”

“You trick?”

Stricter, “Jensen,” but,

“I don’t,” and not an ounce of additional tension, nothing, nada. A shrug; half a smile for Jensen’s glare. “But Sam probably told you that already.”

Into his glass, Jensen admits, “She did,” and later, Jeff will inquire about it, and Jensen will be very firm about how of course he didn’t _plan_ anything. He didn’t. He’s no sleaze. It’s not like he’s in dire need of that shit (of anything, really).

“So!” Jeff claps to get their attention; earns them a flinch from the kid. “Are we ready? Actually, I need to use the ladies’ room real quick. Meet you downstairs.”

Jensen finishes his drink before he starts to gather his equipment. Jared helps by opening the basement door, switching the lights on. The stairs groan.

Jared comments, “Nice,” behind Jensen’s back.

Jensen gestures towards the table. “We picked out a few things, that okay?”

“Sure,” says the kid.

Down here, surrounded by concrete—the wooden beams, the padded floor—the rustle of someone stripping out of their clothes feels closer than it is. Jensen focuses on his camera. Hauls the lights closer. His glasses slip low on his nose; he pushes them back up.

Jeff finally rejoins them.

“What took you so long? Get your prostate checked, man.”

“You know, maybe I should.” Jeff’s still in his earlier clothes—loose, old tee, banged-up jeans. He’s calm like he always is, just before. He begins to take off his rings, his watch. There is no nastiness in his, “Looking good,” for their guest. The kid’s snort is muffled.

“Thanks.”

Jensen dares to face them just in time to instruct, “No,” and, “keep them on for now,” so Jared simply drops his hands from where he was fumbling with his jeans. He’s already pulled out the belt and put it on the table, together with his shirt.

Jeff adds, “Barefoot though, please.”

Jared obliges immediately. Yeah, he’s used to this. Solely decoration, a dress-up doll.

Jensen’s ears feel hot. His hands are firm on his camera. Even with the fucking _mask_ on, the kid is gorgeous. “How long again have you been doing this?”

Jared pulls his socks off like a kid. (Jensen has to force himself to not stare at the obscure size of Jared’s feet, _the length of his_ _toes_.) “Uhm, fetish stuff or in general?”

“Both.”

“Well, I’m—twenty-four now, so.” Jensen swears he can see him turning his eyes towards the ceiling, counting. Jeff moves around the room like a big cat, doing his thing. “Fetish, obviously, started when I turned eighteen, so, six. Man, that sounds like a lot, doesn’t it?”

Jensen doesn’t reply.

“I did ads since I was a toddler, though, I dunno. I was still in diapers.”

“I bet you were a cute baby.”

Jared agrees, “I was,” entirely unabashed, while he offers his wrists without being told to as soon as Jeff steps up to him with a pair of cuffs in his hands.

Jeff fastens the things. All Jensen can see is the movements of the muscles in his back. “Your mama knows what you’re up to these days?”

“She’s not eager to see the shots, but, yeah.” Then, “Why, doesn’t yours know about your little sex dungeon?” and Jensen splutters before he can stop himself.

He thinks he can see Jeff smiling; that typical rise of his cheeks. “Touché,” he admits, and, yeah, definitely smiling. “Arms up high, smarty-pants.”

Again, Jared reacts immediately, smoothly. “We’re doing bondage, basically, right? And some impact stuff?”

Jeff agrees, “Right,” and hooks Jared’s wrists to one of the ceiling beams.

Jared is taller than them, taller than most people they’ve had down here so far. Jensen has to order, “Farther out, his arms are too lax,” so Jeff clips the karabiner two rings over—yeah, much better.

“Sorry,” says Jared, wriggling his hands, “monkey-arms,” and Jensen swallows the urge to tell him to shut up. He takes a first pic, two, just to get it over with, get into it. Jared’s eyes are right there, watching him through the narrow slits of the otherwise (minus two holes for his nose) enclosed mask.

He’s skinny. Skinny enough that he looks younger. Shaved his chest, his pits.

The trimmed-but-visible treasure trail crawling all the way up to Jared’s navel is the only lifeline Jensen’s got.

“I’ll probably get hard,” all casual, still. “Is that a problem?”

Jeff soothes, “All cool.” He steps aside so Jensen can get a few decent shots in, runs his hands back through his hair to keep it out of his face; scratches through his beard, once. “Anything I should know? Hard limits? Injuries?”

“My left shoulder is kinda iffy, so,” and as Jeff immediately moves, Jared adds: “Oh, but this is okay right now, just, I can’t put too much leverage on it or anything. But you said no suspension anyway, right?”

Again, “Right,” and slowly but surely, the feeling of the room—changes. Centers. Warms.

Jared just says, “Cool,” and doesn’t add anything else.

Jensen plucks his glasses off his face, now.

Sinks to his knees to get an angle on the guy. He stands up to rearrange the light, goes back down. Jared’s chest moves slow with his breath.

Jensen hears, “Do you want me to look at the camera?” and he lowers the object in question until Jared can look straight into his eyes, can see him decide.

“Not constantly, but—yeah.”

“Am I into it?” Jared speaks softly. The room’s quiet, always. “What’s the story?”

“The story is that he picked up a cute kid who’s into getting his ass beaten with a belt.” Jeff snickers for that. Jensen takes another picture. “You’re hooded or masked for all of it, so don’t think too hard on what face to make.”

A light, “Okay,” and Jared’s quiet again.

Jensen fixes him through and then over the viewfinder. God, he’s skinny. You can see his skin moving across his muscles with every breath he takes.

Jeff’s hand enters the picture with a squeeze to Jared’s crotch. A delighted, “Hmm,” from Jensen’s right, but he’s too obsessed with the close-up to move. “Love me a proportional guy.”

Jared is—quiet.

Jeff’s hand retreats. “You want me to start?” and that’s for Jensen, and so Jensen nods and moves backwards to give Jeff room. “You tell me if I go too hard on you, all right?” Jensen half-sees Jared nodding, sees Jeff reaching out to stroke his knuckles along a masked cheek. “Tell me if you ever need anything. We don’t wanna upset your management.”

Jensen hears, “I’m good,” and, yeah, yeah.

It sells well, stuff like this—Jeff, all gruff and soft with his worn-down clothes, the grey overtaking his beard. Buffer guys, skinnier guys; Jeff can handle them all. Younger, older. Doesn’t matter.

He starts with the cane.

The tip feathers—along Jared’s ribs, his chest. He holds himself firm, static. So well-behaved. (Jensen already knows he’s gonna stay up tonight, look up those aforementioned works from six years ago.) Once Jeff grazes one nipple, both grow stiff nearly immediately. Jensen’s forefinger doesn’t leave the shutter release.

Jeff murmurs, “I’m sure you get that a lot, but,” and Jensen’s all professional, all focused on his art as he captures Jeff’s single-handed maneuver of plucking Jared’s jeans open, “you’re fucking gorgeous, kid.” Black underwear, broad elastic waistband. “I can only hope you’ll enjoy this as much as I will.”

A soft, “Pretty sure, yeah,” and fuck, he’s already chubbing up, isn’t he.

Jeff tugs the black denim low and then lower. Jared helps by closing and straightening his legs. Jeff spends extra time on his knees to get the too-tight pants off those ankles, those feet. He cradles the latter, and God, if this one hasn’t done any foot stuff yet, Jensen will have to send Sam another inquiry asap.

Jeff, God bless him, has the face of a man holding himself back so so hard from bowing down even lower than he already is.

Instead, he asks, “You ever got your feet caned?” and Jensen’s stomach flutters in-synch with Jeff’s lashes as Jared easily shares,

“Yeah,”

and Jensen’s husband follows up, gently: “You like it?”

Jared just laughs, short and high all airy. His leg jerks like Jeff was reaching for the cane instead of stroking the top of his foot.

Jared admits, “I’ll cry.”

“Don’t matter with a hood on.”

Jensen makes sure to get a detail of how Jeff’s thumb strokes the haired knuckle of the kid’s big toe.

Jeff reaches for the spreader bar and fixes Jared’s ankles to that, next. He links it with the iron hooks embedded into the floor. Starfish-spread, their guest still looks so confident. In nothing but his tiny underwear and a fucking mask pulled over his head, chained up in some strangers’ basement—Lord, Lord.

(The dad in Jensen wants to ask if his manager even knows where he is right now, if _anyone_ knows, but, God, of course they would. Why wouldn’t they know? Probably even drove him here or something. Saw Jeff’s bike in the driveway, the efforts of their weekly gardener visits on the front lawn.)

Jensen moves aside. Comes close for the ripple of goosebumps on Jared’s stomach, his chest. God, the kid’s warm.

The throb of Jared’s dick against the soft-black cotton of his expensive-looking briefs is mesmerizing.

Jeff flicks it with the cane just to be an asshole. Works for Jared, though. Then again, Jeff’s just a natural about making people wet their panties for him.

He mocks, “Didn’t even touch you yet,” and kneads at Jared’s crotch again, once but strong, and Jared doesn’t even try to hide how he’s chasing after it. Jeff laughs for that.

He retrieves one of their simpler sets of nipple clamps and attaches it to their model. Jared is tanned and his nipples are dark. Jeff pulls on the string linking the two pieces, and Jared’s entire body stutters alive to bend, to ease the discomfort. Not much space to work with, though, and Jeff makes that clear to Jared by tugging even farther, making him meets the limit of his range.

Jensen sucks at his own upper lip and tastes a hint of salt.

“Beat him,” he says, half under his breath but Jeff hears (always), and the cane is loud with how it cuts through the air, even louder when it meets the stretched, skinny side of Jared’s stomach.

The only quiet things in the room are: Jared’s mouth. Jeff’s feet. Jensen.

They’ve been doing this for so long, most days it feels like Jeff is an extension of him. Jensen doesn’t even have to think before Jeff already does what needs to be done. It’s a silent, focused co-op—Jeff with his hands, Jensen with his camera.

Jeff’s nearly done with his left side by the time Jared begins to squirm. He’s trying so hard to stay firm. Still hasn’t made a sound. (Jensen thinks: soon.)

The other side; Jeff whistles through his teeth. Quick-taps the unharmed area to warm it up, fuck with Jared’s head. Be an ass, generally.

Jared’s left blooms in a bright red and Jensen clenches his jaw against the urge to lean in, dig his teeth in there like a fucking dog.

These are gonna be great pictures.

“You still with us, hun?” and a dig of the end of the cane into one of the quickly-swelling welts, a tug to the nipple chain, and Jared flinches and gulps a distant,

“Uh-hum,”

and Jeff’s teeth flash from below the curl of his upper lip. His wrinkles, when he smiles. “Good,” he says, before going to town on the kid’s right flank.

Jensen’s nose fills with that distinctive scent of fresh sweat. Jared slicks up beautifully. This is not the time nor place for ring lights; no—the spots from above burn bright, add to the growing heat. Jensen is half-aware of his tee getting stuck to his back. He’ll be sore tomorrow, too.

Jeff makes a quick stop-and-grab for a pair of leather gloves, and Jensen would propose to him for that alone right now if his stupid ass hadn’t already done that back in Venice, back in the early new millennium. Jeff gives him a smirk, a raise of a brow because he knows exactly what he’s doing (always, always), and Jensen doesn’t demand a kiss just because they’re on the clock. Because this isn’t—about him.

They’re beautiful gloves. Neat, intact stitches, even after all these years of use. Jeff takes good care of his possessions. If Jensen allows himself, he can (clearly) imagine them sliding across his skin instead of Jared’s. That constant ghost of them, the smooth cold until they heat up from Jeff’s palm.

Jeff’s fingers feather along the welts he beat into Jared’s skin. Chase the sweat, the barely-there dip of his navel. “Oh, by the way,” he murmurs, and Jensen’s dick gives an aborted throb against the side of his leg for it, “every drop you leave on this floor? You’ll be licking that shit up.”

Jared agrees, “Yes,” forced right through his teeth.

He follows up with a curse when Jeff curls the chain around his finger and tugs, tugs, tugs—playful tiny movements but the kid is so pent up, his body so overwhelmed. Jeff snickers, close enough that Jared can drop his head to his shoulder. Jeff _awws_ at him as he keeps tugging at the chained clamps.

“If I touched your dick right now, would you make a mess all over my leg? Yeah,” for Jared’s muffled, immediate _yes_ ; and Jeff’s free hand comes to pet the top of Jared’s masked head. “Yeah, I know, I know. What a good boy you are, huh?”

Serial pics for Jeff, pulling the mask off Jared’s head. The sweet drag of his thumb along that jaw, the cup over an ear. Jared’s hair is all messed up, and Jensen gets a close-up of the moment where Jared wonders if Jeff’s gonna kiss him on the mouth—so close, takes more to not do it than to do it, really—and realizes that he won’t.

Jeff licks his own lip, though, eyes hooded and all. Lets his thumb smear across that mole next to Jared’s nose, and Jensen begrudges that he’s the only one in this room who doesn’t know what Jared’s breath tastes like.

A gentle push against his chest helps Jared to stand straight again so Jeff can get to the table, retrieve the hood. Jensen snatches a couple of details like—Jared’s tucked chin, the flush down his chest. The dumb-long curl of his lashes and the strands of hair hanging into his face. Undignified, like this; as far as something as pretty as that can lose any dignity whatsoever.

So far gone already. He’s not swaying (yet), Jensen has to give him _that_.

“Pigtails would be cute,” muses Jeff, half-heartedly brushes Jared’s hair out of his face so it won’t be entirely irritating with the hood on. Thin nylon, breathable, and if Jared opened his eyes with it on, he could see everything. Jeff buckles the blindfold over the hood, though; one of the collars. “Maybe later.”

“God, give him the—” and Jensen catches himself too late, and Jeff’s looking at him kinda surprised, but patient. Jensen trembles, on the floor. “—the, uhm—gag him,” and Jeff gives Jared a measured look. “Just for a few pictures,” and while Jared doesn’t lose a word, he looks so much more—complete, with it on.

The thick leather against the smooth nylon. Jared’s immaculate skin. The anonymity, restructured thanks to the distinct shapes of the blindfold, the gag.

Jeff teases, “Are we happy?” against Jensen’s cheek, with his nose catching on Jensen’s clean shave, and Jensen would punch him for anything more than that. Lets Jeff snicker, lets him draw back, return to the task at hand. “Maybe if we play again another time, I’ll let you keep it, but.” Jeff takes off the gag. “I need to be able to hear you, all right?” and Jared nods. Jensen thinks he hears a small, small sigh.

Jeff strolls to the table so he can toss the gag away. His hand hovers over several toys before it picks up the flogger, and Jensen is already in motion before Jeff can finish his, “Sweetheart, you mind moving the lights?”

Jeff waits; Jensen can hear him drawing the broad leather strings through his palm. He tries to not remember last week too hard, how it had felt when it had been him to…well, lights. _Lights_ , Ackles.

“You think maybe twenty?” and Jensen stirs when he realizes it’s him Jeff is talking to, and his mouth opens stupid and he stammers his agreement, something. He resettles his stance a couple of times, has to work fast. Just a tickle across Jared’s back, the promise of what’s about to happen. “Honey, I need you to count ’em for me, okay?” and Jensen flinches in sympathy for that first, brutal whip.

Jared’s, “One,” comes out absolutely choked-off, and it doesn’t get better from there.

Jensen makes sure to capture—the clench of Jared’s hands, his shoulders. The tension, head to toe, literally. God, kid can take a lot. All muscle, of course he would be—resilient.

Jared takes all twenty like a champ but he flinches like a deer once Jeff crowds up close, gently touches his back; presses a kiss into his wet nape.

Jeff praises, “Good boy,” before he hooks both thumbs into the elastic of Jared’s briefs and yanks them _down_.

Jared’s dick slaps free out of their sight, and Jensen is gonna fucking _tan_ Jeff’s ass.

Jeff warns, “Don’t come,” and Jared doesn’t. Trembles, though, while Jeff goes to his knees, works his underwear down until the fixed spread of those legs won’t let him go any further. A pause, a wrinkle of Jeff’s forehead before he surrenders with a sigh. “Well. Feel free to bill us.” The next reach is into the back of his jeans, for that faithful pocketknife.

Hugo Boss doesn’t stand a chance.

Jared’s dick bobs so heavy, even that drop of precome seems to ooze down in slow-motion.

Jensen captures that. All of it.

Jeff flings the cut-up fabric away, rocks back onto his haunches. His hands slide along Jared’s cuffed ankles, up his calves. On second thought, he discards one of the gloves and repeats the motion. Gives a longing, long look up towards Jared’s ass—spread enough by the position for you to count his pubes, watch the nervous twitch of his furled-up asshole. Jeff tuts, directs his eyes back down to his hands. Kneads at tense muscles, rubs his bare fingertips down the heel of Jared’s foot.

“Would you go on your tippy-toes for me, please?” and Jared, God bless him, does.

Jeff growls. A deep, painful thing.

“Things we could do to you,” he murmurs, and Jensen wonders if he could get away with a short bathroom break, rub one out just to—fucking make it through this session without ruining these jeans.

(The strain of the position has Jared shaking. That won’t show in the pictures per se, but Jensen will know. The little things; the fight in Jared’s composure.)

“Cane?” Jensen’s voice feels like a gulp in his throat. Like if he let go too far, something horrible might crawl out. Jeff’s eyes are up and on him; he knows. “His ass. His thighs.”

Jared growls a tight, “God,” and Jeff splutters a little, gives a smooch to one of Jared’s ass cheeks before he rocks up to a stand once more, drags the glove back onto his hand.

“Good thinkin’,” he drawls while Jensen wonders—how far Jared would let them take it.

Definitely another inquiry to Sam, yes. Maybe tomorrow, before/during Jensen’s first coffee.

The noise of a drawer opening, of metal clanking against metal, has Jensen wide-eyed.

Jeff hums, deep in his headspace (you can tell by the weight of his eyes, the smoothness of his moves). “What do we think?” he murmurs as he lifts one of the endless tools up to his face for Jensen to see. Jensen can’t exactly speak. For Jared, then: “Kid, yes or no—anal hook?”

Again, “God,” followed by a wrangled, “yeah. _Yes_ ,” and Jensen breathes through it, through Jeff’s eyes narrowing, deciding, rejoicing. God. God, yeah.

Jeff grabs a bottle of lube before he closes the drawer. “I clean all this shit better than my dentists cleans their neat little torture devices. Stainless steel,” and Jeff presses the hook to Jared’s swollen-red side for him to feel it, “and, just for the sake of the pictures, I’d like to skip the latex for this one. Totally cool though if—”

“No, yeah; do it.”

“Oh, all right. All right there,” and that wolf-grin again, and Jensen thinks: you stupid, stupid fucking boy.

Of course, Jensen knows Jeff and how careful he is about that shit, but his blood pressure doesn’t seem to differentiate. Jensen’s brain surely can’t.

“I’ll use my fingers first, that okay?” A gentle hand to Jared’s hip while the other smear-dips right over the prize. That shudder is for the cold of the lube, mainly; probably. Jared nods. “Good call.”

Jensen captures it all.

That first instinctive tuck of hips before that tension melts, before Jared’s big boy brain can take back over. How he trembles so sweet, does his best to relax into it. Jeff tuts at him, soothes him with his free hand. His eyes are glued to where he’s pumping a singular gloved finger into the kid.

“Give Mr. Ackles a warning before you bust your nut all over our floor, okay?” and Jared nods, blind and frantic. Jeff adds a second finger.

Soft, almost-innocent, “You been fucked before?” and Jared nods again, and Jeff looks _that_ close to burying his teeth in the kid’s armpit. “Course you have.”

“I’m single, though.”

Jeff laughs. Says: “I see.”

Jeff pulls his fingers out and picks the hook from where he’d hung it in his back pocket. He slicks it up, nudges it where Jared can’t be that much more open than that minute ago. Prep had mainly been for the smoother slide. It’s one of the slimmer tools, after all.

The hook sinks in so easily that Jensen’s own asshole clenches.

Lord.

Jeff praises, “There you go,” as it settles against Jared’s tailbone. No request nor effort is needed to keep it in place as Jeff makes the few steps to the table, get one of the ropes, another karabiner. “Oh, that’s gorgeous,” he says—to himself, to Jensen, like this was Jensen’s idea all along—as he tautens the rope between collar and hook; and it is. It is.

The current memory is about to run out, and Jensen’s about to cry.

He rushes through the exchange while Jeff prolongs his affections to their guest’s newest restriction. Just gentle rubs of his hands which Jensen’s got enough pictures of by now.

Jeff beckons him over, once the camera is ready to go again. “On your knees,” he says, and Jensen conforms.

Jeff uses both hands to spread Jared’s cheeks for the camera, and Jensen takes—a picture. Half a dozen.

Jeff asks, “Cane?” and Jensen nods, curt and dizzy. He shuffles farther away, still on his knees. It’s just a good perspective.

Jared groans for the bouncing tug on the rope.

“Posture.”

Easy for Jeff to reach around and jerk on the nipple chain, next. He taps the cane flat across Jared’s ass with the metal hook splitting it in the middle, while Jared does his best to keep his back straight.

The kid is so hard Jensen has to do a double-take that he didn’t come on the first strike. Or the second.

It’s when Jeff’s worked himself a couple of inches down the kid’s thighs, though, when there’s a rushed,

“M-Mr. Ackles,”

and Jensen flinches, irritated, and, God, sure, yeah—he scrambles up front to the sight of Jared’s dick, pulse-dribbling aborted and held-back, and only once Jensen croaks, “I—yes, go ahead,” does Jared let loose, and. Lord. Jesus Christ.

Jeff snarl-laughs. “Looks like someone’s been single for too long.”

He keeps tanning Jared’s legs, though.

All the way down and up again until Jared gasps, “Stop, wait, I, I need a second,” and Jeff’s by the kid’s side right away, soothes a hand over the newest carnage, leans close to catch all the body language.

“Need me to get you down?” but Jared tosses his head, gives a chortled, high laugh. Jeff’s eyes glaze over all sweet.

“No, just—a second. I need to just…! Phew. Fuck.”

Jeff gives his okay. Pets Jared’s (thanks to the hooked-up collar only slightly-hanging) head; gives Jensen a wild, impatient smirk. “Gonna get you down in a minute, though.”

“Oh?”

Jeff’s already working the karabiners on those wrist cuffs open. “You think I was joking about you cleaning my floor?”

Jared repeats that _oh_ with a different hue to it.

Jared is instructed to cup his elbows behind his back. Jeff removes the clamps, the hood. The spreader bar on Jared’s ankles stays.

“Rope or metal, boss?”

“Rope.”

Jared’s dick hasn’t gone down, exactly. Leftover chub at least, and without the hood, Jensen finds that fleeting cringe of pleasure-pain when Jeff gets the kid on his knees, that involuntary, deep tug of the hook still up his ass. Jared doesn’t have to be instructed to bend to the floor and get his face into the mess he left.

It’s a different kind of sado-masochism what’s going on with Jensen’s body right now.

Small breaths. Keep the camera steady—Jared’s huge dog tongue lapping his own come off the black floor. His hair tangling into the puddle, his own spit, his own mouth. Eyes closed like he’d like the hood back on, maybe.

Jeff praises, “That’s it,” for one of the nastier slurping sounds.

All close (Jensen has to be, for the photos), you can pick up: the beat of Jared’s breath. The baby-whimper to it, somewhere just below the surface. Private.

Jeff’s bare foot nudges at the back of Jared’s head, and there’s no pressure behind it at all but Jared gasps. He presses his face into the floor by himself so Jeff can ground down harder. Models and their faces.

“What a clean boy you are,” and another quiet noise from Jared. The rope connecting his collar and the hook (and now his arms as well) is pulled perfectly taut. Jeff continues, “Good boys get the good treats,” and helps Jared up, over to that godforsaken bench.

Godforsaken as in Jeff won’t shut up about it to whoever is polite or nervous enough to point the damn thing out. Homemade like most of their wooden or leather equipment, and Jeff is (unfortunately rightfully so) specifically paternal-proud of this one. Jensen has yet to forgive him for the splinters he pulled when the first prototype fucking broke underneath him.

Jeff foregoes the buckles. Their guest doesn’t exactly have anywhere to go. Belly-down, supported under the hips and his upper chest, his head, it’s—comfortable, despite the spreader bar keeping his ankles (and thusly his legs) parted wide. Elusively so, the comfort, of course. Jared’s probably been in enough stirrups like this before to know that.

Jeff hauls a stool under his own ass while Jensen hurries with the lights. By the time Jensen settles behind his man to peer over his shoulder, Jeff’s already got the cane back in his hand; Jared’s foot in the other.

“So adorable on your knees like that.”

Jared gives a weak sigh.

“I got you,” hums Jeff. “Don’t you worry.”

Jeff’s thumbs dig deep into the arch of Jared’s foot. He’s become rather wiry over the past couple of years but there’s so much strength in him, still. Jensen has no idea where he keeps it. Hidden away together with his decency, probably.

It’s a quiet process. Jeff takes off his gloves eventually to continue the massage bare. The cane remains between his fingers through all of it, presses against the side of Jared’s feet as a reminder. Tangles between his toes.

By the time Jeff slides the gloves back on, Jared’s feet went from pale to rosy. Soft and heated with the stimulated circulation. (Jensen doesn’t step back once Jeff leans back and into him, shoulder blade against the dig of his tucked-away dick.)

Gentle pitter-patter like Jeff did with the flogger, at first, and Jared’s toes curl for the change. Jeff’s thumb uncurls them, tucks them down, open.

“Nuh-uh-uh. None of that.”

Jeff is a master of symmetry. One neat ladder down that sole and every inch of Jared cringes for it. The spreader bar plus Jeff’s hand take away all chances for those feet to withdraw. Jeff mirrors his work on Jared’s other foot.

“That’s not so bad now, is it?” A flat hand to the already-there welts on Jared’s ass. Jared whines. “Your dick sure likes it.” (Tucked back thanks to the bench—yeah, fattening back up, even if reluctantly.) And this isn’t one of Jeff’s videos, and this isn’t about _that_ , and yet he asks, “Tell me,” and Jensen’s front is damp with the sweat rising to Jeff’s back under his tee. “Tell me to keep hurting you.”

Jared rushes, “K-keep—keep _doing_ that, please,” and he wails when Jeff complies.

His knees skid on the padded material of the bench but the tension on the anal hook whenever he squirms just a little is enough to refocus him, keep him in line. Jeff goes over his feet again. And again.

Jeff wipes his forearm across his forehead. A short break; he shakes his wrist out, half-reaches behind to cup behind Jensen’s knee for reassurance. Jensen can’t give him anything right now.

“Please,” all wet and muffled from up front. “Please, the uhm…hood? Can you put it back on, please?”

Jeff rubs some mysteriously unharmed-yet patch of skin.

“Since you ask so nicely.”

Jeff gets up. Jared sniffles, unseen. Jensen blinks, breathes. Fruitless tug on the lights, just to return.

The kid gets his will. Jeff coos wordless nothings as Jared raises his head for him. He wipes Jared’s face with the edge of his shirt, adds the blindfold once the hood is back. Returning to his place, Jensen gets a quick shot of those dark-wet tear stains on Jeff’s shirt.

“So, good sir—what’s next?”

Jensen glares. At Jeff, Jeff’s hand casually grazing Jared’s ass. Held up high thanks to the bench, the spots shining down on it, it’s—God, those welts.

Jeff prompts, “Yeah?” as if Jensen said something. Jensen’s teeth grit and he circles the two. Busies himself with interesting angles of the occupied bench while Jeff decides what Jensen wants. “Sweats a lot, this one. You think the salt stings?”

Jensen grumbles behind his camera. Jeff doesn’t laugh at him out loud. He’s got that much self-control.

Stool, again; one glove off, drift of palms over Jared’s ass, the back of his thighs. Jared flinches, and, yeah. Jensen swallows.

Jeff tuts at the kid as he thumbs at a particularly irritated patch of skin.

He drags his tongue over it, next.

“ _Tastes_ salty,” he informs.

A patient pause until Jensen has shuffled closer, until Jeff licks at the kid again. Both hands still on him, soothing. Jeff allows himself a small, reverent sigh.

Jeff nuzzles up against all that red-hot skin. Drags his beard over it, his lips, the tip of his nose. A distant, swallowed-down noise from Jared for that, the intimacy of that. Kid like him certainly has been worshipped like this to the moon and back before, by many, but Jeff has his sure ways to get any slut flustered.

Jensen sure flushes in second-hand heat.

The edge of a canine. Jeff sucks at him with just his lips, not hard enough to draw a hickey. A hum, a drag of his thumb, before he sinks his teeth in for real.

Jared _bucks_.

Jensen’s own lip pops from his mouth the moment he realizes he’s been chewing it to fucking death.

Another picture. Another.

Jeff’s arms strain. Jensen can only imagine the weight behind Jared’s thrashes. But Jeff takes his sweet time, as always. Longer than he’d have to, considering Jensen can only take so many different angles of him working his mouth across two ass cheeks.

Jeff splutters around his current bite (one of those darling fucking moles, Jesus fucking Christ) for Jared’s sobbed, “ _Fuck_ ,” and claps his open palm over where his spit still makes that new, deeper shade of red shine. Jared sobs some more for that.

Jeff’s throat-tight, “You like that?” and Jared’s immediate,

“Yes, fuck—!”

Jeff fucking owes him for this one, big time.

The thought of adjusting himself in his jeans crosses Jensen’s mind on the farthest peripheral of his consciousness. Both hands on the camera, though; he needs them with how unsteady he feels right now. A tremble in his hands and he breathes that down and away, and he’s so close to them he can smell Jeff’s spit. That helps. (Or does it?)

Close-ups of Jeff’s beard getting messy with his own spit. The elegant slide of the tip of his tongue along the metal hook poking out of Jared’s ass—before he goes all in, kitten-licks around where it’s sunken into; just once, just a tease, check if Jared—

The rumbling from what sounds like the empty-empty depths of Jared’s chest sure lets anyone willing to listen know that he’s _beyond_ okay with it.

So, Jeff leans in. Thumbs him open just a bit, just so he can get to that slick, sensitive skin on the very inside—licks, half-bites around the hook. Presses flat kisses, noses down Jared’s taint, the cute seam of his balls.

“So tame,” and Jensen’s delirious with it, hearing Jeff rumbling like that with his face buried in someone else’s ass. “Not even _trying_ to hump that bench, Jared.”

“You, I—you didn’t say I could.”

“Jesus.”

Jeff sits back, eyes glazed and lips plump with circulation, and his jaw clenches pretty with the weight he puts into the next rain of spankings. Has Jared trembling even prior to thumbing at his hole, pulling it slightly open to let his bare fingers smack down on it, on his taint. Jared holds himself stricter for that, now; does his very best not to fight Jeff or the pain. Jensen gets an accidental candy shot of one huge blurt of precome oozing out of that ignored cock and onto the bench beneath.

Jeff leans back in with a growl. Truly pulls the kid open around the hook and comes away wet.

“Open your mouth,” and Jensen does.

Jeff’s spit hits him right on the tongue.

He’s not told to swallow, so presses it to the roof of his mouth. Keeps it there.

“Why don’t you put that thing down and make him suck your cock?”

Jensen doesn’t remember closing his eyes. God. “That—uhm…”

And maybe, if Jared wouldn’t have said, “You don’t have to,” Jensen wouldn’t have done it.

As is, though, he doesn’t even have the wherewithal to switch the damn camera off before he sets it down, pushes himself to his feet.

Just the zipper; a careless tug to get himself out of his briefs. Those few steps to the dresser for the condoms in the first drawer. Jared’s already craning his neck for him to pull the hood out of the way.

Jensen tugs it up just high enough.

Jared’s mouth is all soaked heat, no teeth.

Jensen’s hands get a hold of the hood, the hair underneath, on their very own account.

Jared lets him sink all the way inside and Jensen’s eyes flutter shut in an attempt to hide themselves rolling the fuck _back_ into his skull.

Jensen’s cock gets swallowed around. Squirmed around with how Jared attempts to keep himself good and steady despite Jeff renewing his efforts to break all the skin on his ass, apparently. A growl and Jensen can’t differentiate which one of them did _that_ ; not with this new angle of Jared’s sweaty, bare back, the sore quiver of his ass throned by Jeff’s goddamn face.

“Just breathed you right in, huh?” and Jared’s throat works as if on cue, and Jensen pulls back just enough for him to be able to get some air through his nose. Jensen’s face goes tight with it all—overload. This is not gonna take long. The condom helps, though.

“Goes all tight when you do that.”

“What, that?” Jeff tugs on the rope tied to the hook again, and Jensen pushes himself inside to the root once more, gives a curt nod. Squeezes his eyes shut against all the instincts that bubble to the surface of his skin right now, takes his hands off the kid. Moves easy, shallow, while Jared splutters around the girth of him, the too-deep invasion.

A dribble of spit down Jensen’s balls once he tugs those free in an afterthought. He pinches his nipple for distraction. Pussyfoots his eyes open eventually to watch Jeff watching him, teasing the kid caught between them.

“He any good?”

Jensen scoffs. Gets a hand down to check on the condom, roll it back into place.

With the blindfold and hood still on his head, Jared’s only way of communication is the amount of enthusiasm he’s working his tongue and throat around Jensen’s dick.

Jensen decides, distracted: “Not half bad.”

“Other end looks pretty good as well.”

“Fuck…”

Jeff laughs. “What?”

“Fuck, Jeff…!”

Jeff has mercy.

Sits halfway up so that Jensen, if he leans in as low as he can without losing his balance, can kiss the damn bastard on the mouth. Jeff’s beard is all wet with his own spit and Jared’s sweat, and the smear of it all tastes like lube and ass and salt when Jensen’s tongue pokes out to chase it off his own lip, after.

“You’re so fucking hot, baby.”

Jensen gets his tit pinched over his still-there tee. Doesn’t fight it. Doesn’t comment.

Leaning back, he can roll his hips again—lets Jared up for a cough, a gulp of air. He wrings his thumb and forefinger around the base of his cock to hold it steady, smear the gobs of spit from Jared’s chin back into his fucked-open mouth. Jeff tugs mean on the rope and thusly the collar, and Jared chokes, off-guard. Tips his head nice. Jensen sinks back in.

Jeff gets up and returns with more lube. Slathers it around where Jared’s ass is broken open around the surely warmed metal so he can tease it in-out easier, make the ride smoother. “There you go,” for Jared’s aborted nasal grunt. One strong thumb tucked over the hook to press it in, the other down on his taint, tugging. “Still looking kinda tight, Jay-bird. You all right there?”

A gurgled something. Jensen pulls out for as long as it takes Jared to croak, “Yessir.”

“Oh, you flirt.” (Jensen’s dick throbs in-synch with Jeff’s thumb bobbing the hook up Jared’s ass.) “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say this is flirting with me, too. Isn’t that right?”

Jensen doesn’t let the kid up for that. He doesn’t need to.

Jared’s spider-fingers uncurl from inside of his palms when Jeff begins to truly draw the hook out of him. Jensen watches the drag of it, of despite how slim the hook, Jared’s ass still clings to it. How his hole stretches adorable for that weighted, generously bulbed end.

Jeff decides, “Beautiful,” for both of them. Drops the toy nearby after untying it from the remaining setup and goes back in with his mouth, his fingers. “Jensen,” he says, just as soft as you’d expect with how pussy-drunk he must be at this point. “Jensen, sweetheart, would you let him up to tell me whether or not he’s gonna let me get my dick up his ass?”

“Fuck—”

Jared mirrors: “Fuck,” once he can. Chases with a sore, “Yes, _please_ , fuck,” and Jensen stuffs him back full before he can embarrass himself any further.

Jeff scowls. “Let him speak.” He gets up then, though. Condoms; Jensen’s cheek.

“Stop that.”

Jeff just snickers.

A gentle kick-shove to the stool so Jeff can settle into a wide stance, can pluck his jeans open. “You like that? Getting used on both ends?” he murmurs, drops the remaining leather glove. “What a good little toy you are,” and Jensen unearths his cock from the depths of Jared’s throat just in time to catch his voice breaking with the strain of Jeff bulling his way up his guts.

Jensen squeezes his balls to stave himself off. Jeff is now easily close enough to kiss, but Jensen won’t give that to him. Can’t break this trance of that first, blissed relief of sinking into something hot and tight.

Jeff snarls under his breath. Slams his hips forward, once, just to startle Jared, shove his entire body forward on the bench.

“Put that mouth back on him,” and Jared does.

A darling, lost gulp, click of his throat, swallowing.

Jensen buries the remaining noise with his cock. Holds himself deep, forces—opening the kid up on both ends. All that eagerness makes up for the lack of prep.

Jeff churns his dick deep. Pulsing rolls of his hips and he’s got one hand wrapped around Jared’s hip until the other joins in. Jared’s portfolio reads 6’4” but he’s more than manageable wedged and kneeling between them.

Jeff jokes, “Not half bad,” upon Jensen accidentally looking him in the eye, and Jensen snorts. Gets his cheek cupped, his lip thumbed at. Jared doesn’t see all that, but it still ties Jensen’s guts in a knot.

Jeff doesn’t waste much time. They have the bench and the kid groaning between them; slap of skin on skin. Jensen has to let go of his lip again, plucks at his nipple again.

Finally, there’s Jeff’s: “On his face, if you want.”

Lord, does Jensen _want_.

Gritted, “Fuck,” and he pulls out, slips the condom off to toss it wherever. The dry drag of his hand on his lube-precome-sloppy cock makes his toes fucking curl in his shoes and he jacks himself hard and fast, just a couple of strokes really with Jared still masked, getting his breath punched out of him by Jeff’s dick, _waiting_ with his mouth wide open.

Jensen cups his nuts as they seize, hard, and the first shot scores straight across where leather and nylon covers the bridge of Jared’s nose, and the next lands on that already-smeared, bare upper lip.

Jared fucking _whimpers_ for it.

Jensen’s brain is still liquid when he comes back down to earth—a last weak blurt of come for that finishing squeeze. He wipes that on Jared’s chin. Gets the edge of a tooth with how the guy can’t keep himself steady with Jeff slamming into his ass. Jensen’s not exactly mad.

His hand lingers on his softening dick while he watches them. Jeff’s focused rut. Something about Jared’s voice tells him Jeff’s missing his prostate on purpose. Still pretty hot though.

A tight, “You know the rules,” and Jensen huffs, makes a face.

One knee on the ground is enough; one hand below Jared’s chin. Jared tenses, didn’t see the touch coming. Didn’t expect the drag of Jensen’s tongue below his nose either.

He doesn’t try to kiss Jensen. Holds still, instead, as best he can. Jensen cleans the blindfold, its grooves and seams, suckles where he stained the nylon. Jared’s breath trembles against his chin, his cheek; the inside of his wrist.

A stray drop got on the floor. Since Jared’s not gonna see that, Jensen dips down to lick that away, too.

Jensen doesn’t tease, doesn’t try to be a bitch. Not with the low grumble of Jeff, chasing his own orgasm on top of their guest. Jensen lingers on the floor, out of the way. Steals long looks up to where Jared’s dick slaps against the bench from above, up to Jeff’s face, the pinch of his mouth.

Jeff lifts one hand, finally, and tucks his fingers into his palm, one after the other, as he counts down. His thumb comes last.

He slams into Jared one last time, then, and comes apart.

A silent, heavy throb of all of him. Jensen’s dick would get all sentimental if he hadn’t come less than two minutes ago.

Jeff puts his hand back on Jared. Churns himself deep. Blinks.

“Jesus.”

“You good?”

“That’s an understatement.” Jeff shakes his head. Roams his hands over Jared’s ass before he pulls out all careful. Again, “Jesus,” and he ties off the condom, throws it into the nearby bin. He wipes his hands over his face, gestures towards the kid still with his ass up on their bench. “Be a doll and finish him up.”

Jensen’s already rocking himself to his feet. “Which toy?”

Jeff wriggles his fingers in reply.

Jensen doesn’t need to nod.

He steps behind the kid. No need for lube, apparently. God, Jeff worked him over good. One hand on the small of Jared’s back—the other sinks two fingers into the softness Jeff left, no preamble (not that it’d be required). No matter how swollen up inside, Jensen searches that sweet spot out right away.

Tempting to just pump his fingers right up there, so he does that. Jared’s grunt quickly dissolves into something deeper, throatier.

Jensen’s palm squelches where it’s riding up against Jared’s tailbone. His pointer finger slips in with the others, no trouble at all.

Jensen steadies his stance and focuses on the tense pulse of his arm, his wrist.

His teeth grit with it. “Fuck, c’mon. Come on my hand,” and there’s a gasp for that, and a spasm, deep inside.

Jensen has milked more guys than he’d like to admit, but that shit never gets old.

Jared squirms beautifully. No holding back anymore; he grinds back against Jensen’s hand, the steady punches of it. Strangled noises. Jensen would feel bad if Jared required an intact voice for his kinda work.

Jensen feels himself utter, “Fuck,” feels his pinky forcing in with the others. Tenses them, shifts his hand. Jared’s hips lift off the bench, just a little.

Jared doesn’t tell him to stop. Just lets him give whatever, pull him wide on his hand. He doesn’t close up when Jensen lets up on him, not at first. All lax and wet, and if the three of them weren’t this fucking done, Jensen would—get his dick out, see if he could get hard again. But, no.

He smears the mess against the back of Jared’s thigh, turns to check in with Jeff. Finds him sprawled on one of the stools, by the table, his heavy head resting on his knuckles. Smiling.

“All done?”

Jensen scoffs for Jared’s weak, “So done.”

~

Kid’s not fully back yet even after a good wipe-down and one bottle of Evian. Still drifting, sitting on their floor while they tidy up around him.

Jensen hears, “Hey,” and a snap of a finger, and he turns around on habit.

Jeff’s not looking at him, though.

Jared needs a second to follow the direction Jeff’s pointing to. He’s back in his ridiculous Steve Jobs memorial turtleneck but lean-crawls over there smoothly, no hesitation. Jensen’s mouth curls in disgust. Must be cold at this point.

Jeff jokes, “No wonder you’re single,” but all Jared’s got for him for that is that dimpled little smile around half a mouthful of his own come.

Jensen brings their drinks downstairs and Jared indulges them, now. Throws back half the glass and Jensen warns, “Easy,” only to be smiled at. Jared doesn’t talk back.

Is quiet, in general. Tired, probably. His movements come limited, careful. Yeah, once the adrenaline resides…! Jensen leers a last, discreet time before Jared tucks his dick into his jeans, zips up.

Jeff’s hand finds the center of his upper back, rubs him sweet, unseen. Jensen leans into it while Jared taps away on his phone.

“I can drive you,” offers Jensen.

“I’ve got it,” says Jared.

Jensen gets up to retrieve his camera and holes up once he’s brought it back upstairs. Refills his glass, elbows on his knees. Their comfy-warm sofa, the kitschy coffee table.

Jeff and Jared follow a bunch of minutes later. Jensen doesn’t acknowledge them.

Specifically doesn’t acknowledge Jeff’s, “He’s just shy, don’t worry about it.”

Jared eyes him exclusively, by the door.

Still kinda flushed, all heavy with satiation, exhaustion. His hair shouldn’t be able to look as good as it does, after everything.

“You’ve got my card, right?”

Jensen says, “Right.”

Jared gives him a careful smile after saying goodbye, before making his way over to the idle car.

Jensen rejoins Jeff in the guest bathroom. Mixing stench of disinfectant, of lube. He curls his arms around Jeff’s middle, tucks his face into the crook of his neck and groans.

Jeff belittles, “Aw,” and pets his head. Running water. God, he’s tired.

Jeff washes the hook, soaks the cuffs.

“Some good shots in there somewhere?” Jensen nods. “Awesome. You’re happy with it?” Jensen nods again. “Jensen,” sighs Jeff. “He’s not gonna sue us or anything. Calm down.”

Jensen grumbles. Gets his hair ruffled.

“You’ll call her again, right?” Metal against porcelain. Soap, water, skin. Jeff transfers the cleaned objects over to the bed of paper towels he spread out next to the sink. “We can wait a bit, if you want? In case that makes you feel any less slutty about it.”

Jensen resigns, “I’ll call ’er,” right into Jeff’s shoulder.

“Awesome.”

Back in the living room, back over his camera. Jensen knuckles at his eye, drops back into the sofa cushions with his laptop. His ring finger keeps clicking next, next; half a blur through the evening. Jared, more and more flushed by the minute. Jeff’s eyes, more and more vicious.

That fucking mole on Jared’s ass. Jesus Christ.

He utters, “Thanks,” for the magically appearing drink next to his face; takes it. Gets something stuffed into the neckline of his tee and balks, plucks it back out. Black, kinda damp.

Jeff slumps down next to him, own drink in his hand, reading glasses ready to go.

“You know you’ll be jerking off with those stuffed in your mouth, right?”

Jensen’s still not done gawping at the ruined underwear in his hand, but he is blessedly aware that—yes. Yes, he will be.

His head tilts back a little. He sighs through his nose, tender eyes on his husband with Jared’s cut-up briefs squished in his hand.

“Yeah, yeah; love you too.” Jeff scoffs, drinks, waves him off to gesture at the laptop instead. “C’mon, Mapplethorpe, let’s see it.”


End file.
